Page 6 of Fate

“Now. Are you still so settled about this escort business?”

Firen stood. The days were growing warmer, but the nights were cold, so she tucked her wrap about her arms, mindful of her wings. She’d taken special care with them, plucking and fussing until they lay flat, not a feather out of place. “A woman grown, you said,” Firen reminded her.

And from the way Mama looked at her, that was the answer she’d been hoping for.

???

She wasn’t doing anything wrong.

She did not like how often she had to repeat it to herself as she entered the room. It was lit high with candles and lanterns alike—the better to see one another in case bonds required sight as well as touch.

It was a smaller room than she was used to, but the ceilings were higher—the rafters lined with balconies where some were already settled to better survey the space.

The musicians had yet to begin, leaving only the hum of voices as men and women mingled amongst one another. It wasn’t conversation. Not yet. Just soft apologies as they approached and withdrew. Some disappointments were more obvious than others.

She joined the fray, smiling warmly and catching as many eyes as she could. It pleased her that she was not the only one to do the approaching. And at how many men were unfamiliar to her. Some she recognised as they made their circuit through her usual fete, but there was a grouping of dark-winged men she was certain she had not seen before.

There were so many names passed about. Houses too, which hinted at trades and good breeding. There were a few that stayed close to her, looking a little too intently at her, as if they might will the bond into forming if they lingered long enough.

It left her to shy away with a polite smile. To retreat for refreshment and keep to the wall, if only to collect herself.

Which would have been the time when she would have chatted with her friends. She spotted Elayne across the room, but she was still situated with one of the dark-winged fellows—not quite obvious yet if they were mated, but there was a glimmer that suggested it was possible.

Best not to disturb her.

“You are new.”

She turned, finding the greeting abrupt and unfriendly, but her mother had raised her with better manners than that. Which made it easier to bow her head to the girl that looked at her without much kindness in her gaze, although she took a private satisfaction that she was a good head taller, so it hardly counted as bowing her head at all. “I am.”

“Your family moved districts?”

That Firen was unwelcome was more than obvious. Some women were competitive that way, she supposed. Which was absurd in her mind. If a man was meant for the girl beside her, then he wasn’t meant for Firen. Her presence wouldn’t change any bit of it. “No.”

She owed her no explanations. Just courtesy. Which kept her from turning and showing her back, but just barely.

She scanned the room again, looking for some hint of where she might try next. Perhaps the balconies. They were clever in their design, and she wouldn’t mind flittering up there...

Until she remembered the dress she wore and how little was beneath, so maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all.

“Then why are you here?”

Firen’s brow furrowed, but her tone betrayed no exasperation. “I would imagine for much the same reason as everyone else?”

“Yes, but the rest of us are young. I did not know anyone as old as you could go without fetching a mate.”

She wasn’t old. Not by half. So it needn’t have stung as much as it did, and it shouldn’t have made her retort come so quickly to the tip of her tongue.

She swallowed.

Stood even taller and was once again grateful for the height from her mother’s side, and gave the girl as hard a look as she dared. “Rudeness isn’t comely,” she said instead, because it was true and if it hurt when it landed, then hopefully the prickle might lead to a change in attitude.

Firen nodded her head again, and if her wing touched the other girl slightly as she passed, it was an accident. Not that the loud affront behind her suggested it was entirely believed.

Her heart was racing. Not with the pleasant anticipation she’d acquired during the walk—some streets familiar, others not. She did not care for confrontations. Hated when any found fault with her, and she had not expected to feel so when all of their aims were of such accord.

“That was Demezda. Don’t let her trouble you. She’s getting anxious.”

Firen canted her head leftward. This girl was seated, an unusual position when so much of the evening depended on making at least some sort of contact.

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